Bride of the Maker
by kryss-delrhei
Summary: WIP. MaferathAndraste. Fic. Before she became revered as the Holy Prophetess, Andraste was once a woman bound in chains to the Tevinter Imperium, once a mother, and once madly in love. Warning: Character Death, Abuse, Non-Con


**Title:** Bride of the Maker  
**Author:** Kryss Del'Rhei  
**Fandom:** Dragon Age  
**Pairing:** Maferath/Andraste  
**Rating:** T – M  
**Summary:** Before she became revered as the Holy Prophetess, Andraste was once a woman bound in chains to the Tevinter Imperium, once a mother, and once madly in love.  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Dragon Age nor the characters, just borrowing them from BioWare for a little while.

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**PROLOGUE  
****Shadows**

"_And in my darkest hour, I turned from Her and vowed that I would destroy Her." — Canticle of Maferath, dissonant verse_

* * *

The skinned leather opening flaps of the large stand-up tent slapped together harshly in the heavy wind, only adding to the already tense atmosphere among the group. A circle of the many Alamarri clan warlords huddled inside the tent, all staring a bit wide eyed at their leading general, who seemed in the mighty grips of an all consuming rage.

Maferath swirled his body, his bear hide cloak slipping from his shoulders as he slammed his large fists onto the oak of the table, "Where is she?" he growled, his teeth barred, hair wild and cascading around his body. One of the warlords shifted uncomfortably when Maferath narrowed his dark blue eyes on him, making the weak man tremble and swallow back his fear.

"Maferath… what is this?" Andraste stared at her husband, her hand holding open the leather flap to the tent. She was dressed in simple, pale olive robes, her auburn hair pulled up into a high ponytail. Her strong silver glare, seemed to make the other warlords in the room a bit nervous, though they all managed to keep quiet.

He straightened his back, sneering as he brushed his lengthy ebony hair over his shoulder. The Alamarri warlord and leading general was far from being docile as the rage built within him, eating away at and destroying any sense of calm he had left.

"Were you with Him?" he snipped out, his voice heavy with anger as he turned to face her.

Andraste took a deep breath, releasing it through gritted teeth, "You continue with that?"

"YES!" Maferath kicked the chair, sending it skidding across the ground before it toppled over. The other fearless warlords seemed unsure of what they should do, so instead they remained stifled, adverting their eyes as they knew the war was only still brewing between their leaders.

"Now where were you?" His voice was loud and it rang out as the winds whistled harshly, shaking the tent uncontrollably. A storm was rolling in over the lands, just as Andraste had predicted days before.

A crack of thunder pierced the silence.

"No," was her quiet, sincere answer.

"LIES!" Maferath screamed, slamming his fist on the table, the wild rage illuminating his blue eyes.

Andraste lifted her chin in defiance, her gaze steeled and veneer hardened as she opened her mouth, "If you weren't so ignorant, you would have realized that our son is ill. I was tending to my child, though it is of no importance to you I see."

The words were sharp and pointed, aimed to hurt Maferath deeply, but they did not affect the man as they had intended. He stood there, glaring back at the strong woman he had married so many years before and now they were at odds.

One of the generals stepped forward, his hand reaching out to touch his leader's shoulder, who shrugged him away, "By the Maker, Maferath, calm down."

The warlord snarled and hurled around, his fist flying as he nailed the general in the face, knocking him to the ground, "Never say his name in my presence," he snorted and shook his fist out, leaning down to grab his bear skin-lined cloak.

"Now get out! All of you!"

Andraste glowered and turned from the tent, exiting out into the night, the cold wind caressing her lightly tanned skin. She was through with all the arguing, the charade she put on to make the man she once cherished happy. Andraste ground her teeth to hold back in her fury, Ealisay rushing through the troops to come to her side, breathing heavily from her haste, "He did not believe you?" she whispered, gazing into her friend's sharp gaze, and she knew.

"It matters not," she released her breath and turned weary eyes on Ealisay, "Maferath's heart is growing darker."

A chill ran down her spine as she listened to her dearest friend's words, and like a cold shock of truth, she knew it was as Andraste had said. With a sick feeling settling in her stomach she lowered her eyes, "I'm sorry."

"It is not your concern," Andraste rested her cold hand on Ealisay's cheek, "Pray the Maker heeds my words before I loose my husband to his shadows."


End file.
